The cold light of the night fades, the cold skirt pulls the light of the dawn to whose eyes, the broken dust collects the afterglow of the stars, and the fragrance of the rose swings to whose heart, whether love is lost can be made up for by family affection, whether family affection is cold can be nourished by love, the doubtful begin to wander without purpose, and the firm wandering shakes in the dream and infects the reality of the dream.

The ice-blue sky spreads its wings and pushes happiness and misfortune to whom, the faint dark red squeezes out the river of sorrow and brings joy and sorrow to whom, the helpless ending is the negligence of the process or a beautiful mistake from the beginning, the long wait is a woven lie too perfect or a fragile heart does not believe its own eyes.

The injured tell the helplessness of helplessness, the rise of the joy of joy, the suspicious thinking of the hesitation of hesitation, and the firm holding of the dream of the dream, but what is what you want, what you can get, there is no clear goal, there is no only answer, everything has existed as if in a dream.

The sorrow of dawn carries the fragility of the heart, and little by little it succumbs to the darkness on the edge of the gloom, and the originally powerful mind has never been able to get rid of the confusion of materialism, quietly standing in the opposite position, the cycle of life seems to cross the threshold of fate, and walks over and over again in the haze of sadness, while hope still lingers in the low ground of indifference and ruthlessness, watching the dream burn into ashes.

The gray days are always so long, long like a winter, neither the shadow of spring nor the traces of time, the beautiful days are always so short, the short is like a firework, and the stay is the eternal night that is frozen for a moment.

Happiness is missing, whether the edges and corners are like rounded pearls stuck in the sand and become incomplete, whether dreams are lost, whether they are like reflective bronze mirrors, although they can resist the west wind, there are still cracks, all of them are immersed in the meditation of the past and the future, so that the past cannot become the past, and the future cannot become the future.

When joy is born, sorrow begins to die in another dimension, like oneself in the mirror and a shadow in the night, part of which remains in the light and the other part is occupied by darkness.

The warm prelude is always mixed with dark images, the lens beating in the bright and dark images shortens the distance between pessimism and optimism, the reappearance of sweet dreams always lacks an aspect of joy, and the wandering soul finds a rational and emotional fulcrum on the melancholy turntable.

What I see seems to be deliberately exposed to the outside of the invisible, and what I can't see is like a hidden inner see, and I can't find the answer I want between truth and lies, and I can't find the light behind the darkness when I can't find the unexpected wandering between fantasy and reality.

Good things are close to your fingertips but are lost in a blink of an eye, strong emotions that should be held on for life but are faced with separation, everything seems to be a cycle of fate, you can't see yourself, he can't see himself.

Why are dark things black, is there any possibility of it turning red, why are the forces of evil on the back side of the mind, is there any possibility of salvation, what greed is hidden by the cold light piercing the soul, whether the ugly appearance in front of the true goodness is the ghost in the dream, whether the red sun balances the contradiction between the external world and the inner world, and whether the sad eyes in the hesitant steps are their own eyes.

What is lost seems to be the past, in fact, it has already changed its appearance, the existence is in front of it, but it is difficult to heal the sorrow that seeps into the bone marrow, happiness is simply just a dream, but it is an illusion after all, the reality is clear, like a red sun, without a flaw, but there is no wings to continue to fly.

The edge of happiness is stained with blood and moistens the amber eyes, when will the warm light between reality and sweet dreams shine in the direction of the way forward, the vague illusion haunts the sweetness of love and the survival of friendship, so that who can't hear the call from the depths of the heart, some things are far away, some things are close, some are just themselves, some are others.

Since the decayed rotten wood cannot be carved, it is better to let it fend for itself, since the dirty soul cannot awaken, it is better to let it sink willingly, happiness is not only favoring good people and staying away from bad people, every kind of life has its reason for existence since it exists, there is no obvious boundary between good and evil, angels and demons may be part of the soul......

The dark tide passes away to paint the back of the warm sun, the free rebirth is to render the shadow of imprisonment, and all the beauty may only make up for the missing other half, not in vain but in vain in the blank circle.

Suffering narrows the distance between people and blurs the distance between the heart, and the distance of the heart produces dependence, affects the outside world, and then breeds sympathy, which abandons selfish desires and pleasures, and begins to spread light and warmth to a bright place.

The sky and the earth are only separated by a line, why one has become a circle, one has become a square, the cheer and the fall are only in one thought, why one has become a winner, one has become a loser, the past and the present only stay for one night, why one has become history, one has become the present, happiness is reversed, maybe it is just a reflection of suffering, it is not beautiful but it is broken, the light is wrapped in darkness, maybe it is just the other side of the darkness, and the bright one is shining with a misty light.

The light of happiness was dragged into the mezzanine of the universe by the black hole of desire and froze for centuries, the ruthless dark tide swept the two sides of human nature, turning love and hate into flying snow in the cold night, the torn wound was coated with the elixir of sweet dreams, and the reality was indulged in the rain alley of carnival and loneliness, and the wandering shadow broke away from the body's support and looked forward to find himself who did not belong to the wanderer.

Sweet dreams overlap the cruelty of dreams that can't reflect reality, freedom is entangled with the rules of freedom and can't spell out the circle, all happiness is like a fiction and vivid horror, and it can't get an echo but the pain can't be parted.

Happiness cannot be measured, just as pain cannot be separated, the two are mutually exclusive and must be interdependent, there is no relative distance, only absolute closeness.

No matter how you put things together, you can't get back to your original appearance, anyone can keep themselves, but no one can keep time, and no matter how beautiful the broken emotions are, they are just tomorrow's compromise with yesterday.

Redemption and perdition are only the weights at both ends of the scale, but one is the embodiment of beauty and the other is the source of evil, reason and sensibility coexist in consciousness and are inseparable, and when the fantasy of the mind becomes unpredictable, the current of thought that flows becomes a mystery. Any happiness is a shadow created by pain in the ordinary world, which affects joy and comfort, and finally dissolves and disappears in the universe......